rcas?" said her mother, curious to compare the effects
on the minds of the different members of the family of their visitor's
appearance.

"Oh, so odd-looking! such queer little eyes! and no hair on the top
of his head! and such funny whiskers!" said Dorcas, smoothing her own
abundant locks, and looking at her father and brothers, whose curls were
brushed back and straight up into the air, a distance of three inches,
after the fashion then called "Boston." The smallest child gave an
instinctive push over his forehead at the remark, and Zephaniah added,--

"He's as round and yellow as a punkin!"

"He looked stiddy to Dorcas all the time," said 'Mima, roguishly.

"Now you shet up, you silly child!" said Dorcas, with the dignity of a
twelve-month's seniority.

"Wal, he dropped this 'ere in my hand, anyhow, as he went out," said
Obed, opening his hand cautiously, and showing a Spanish doubloon.

"Oh! then you must give it right back to him to-morrow, Obe!" said the
honest sisters; "it's gold! and he couldn't 'a' meant you should hev
it!"

"I do' know 'bout that! I'll keep it t'll he asks me for 't, I guess!"
said Obed, sturdily.

"What did you think about him, Henry?" said the wife; "you wouldn't 'a'
known him?"

"Never! there a'n't an inch o' Swan Day in him! They say people change
once in seven years. I should be loath to feel I'd lost all my looks as
he has!"

"We grow old, though," answered she, with a touch of pathos in her
voice, as she remembered the words of Swan.

"Old? of course, wife!" was the hearty answer; "but then we've got
somethin' to show for 't!"

He glanced at her and the children proudly, and then bidding the young
ones, "Scatter, quick time!" he stretched his comfortable six-feet-two
before the fire, and smiled out of an easy, happy heart.

"What's looks?" said he, philosophically. "You look jest the same to me,
wife, as ever you did!"

"Do I?" said the pleased wife. "Well, I'm glad I do. I couldn't bear to
seem different to you, Henry!"

Henry took his pipe from his mouth, and then looked at his wife with a
steady and somewhat critical gaze.

"I don't think anything about it, wife; but if I want to think on
't,--why, I can, by jes' shettin' my eyes,--and there you are! as
handsome as a picter! Little Dorcas is the very image of you, at her
age; and you look exactly like her,--only older, of course.--Everything
ready for Thanksgiving? We'll give Day a good dinner, anyhow!"

"Yes,